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." And he'd still agreed to learn to be a knight,
as his father and mother wanted. He was the fourth son and,
obviously, would inherit nothing. He would have to make
his own way in the world.
Moran shook himself back to the present. "What do
you think about Janeel and Dein? Their parents are fairly
well off. Their pedigrees are fairly established."
Rakiel mimicked, "Their minds are fairly easily led.
See if they amount to anything." He folded his arms. "At
least they stand a better chance than the fat one. He won't
last a day."
"The fat one," Moran said, annoyed, "has a name, too."
But he couldn't remember it. The fat one, at the interview,
had the habit of ducking his head and letting his older
brother do all the talking - and the brother had never
mentioned the other boy by name. "He'll find self-respect
here."
"Only if the others let him look through the blubber."
Rakiel laughed at his little joke. "And these are the 'flowers
of youth' that come to the knights. Once it was probably
different, I'm sure, but how can you care about these ...
these ... dregs? They're hardly worth the money spent on
them. Do you really think you can make knights of them?"
Before Moran could answer, he cocked an ear to the
sound of footsteps far below
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